


To 'Er' is Human

by bookjunkiecat



Series: Savvy's Holiday Fic [4]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Christmas, Courtship, Flirting, Gift Giving, M/M, Wooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-05
Updated: 2019-12-05
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:02:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21677197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Bond is always bringing Q gifts. It doesn't MEAN anything, Eve Moneypenny. Until it does.
Relationships: James Bond/Q
Series: Savvy's Holiday Fic [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558120
Comments: 10
Kudos: 233





	To 'Er' is Human

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the prompt: Gifts
> 
> Thanks to Kat for the prompts, but this one isn't Johnlock either. 
> 
> My first Bond fic! I just had fun with it; it may be OOC or whatever, but if you don't like it, keep it to yourself. Life's too short for me to deal with wank.

What began as a joke--Bond picking up silly things for Q--soon devolved into a tradition. Returning from a mission to China, Bond left a Lucky Cat on Q’s desk. It was a hideous, gaudy thing, with a dopey grin and a clock in its belly. After Buenos Aires it was a CD of tango music. Following Japan, Q found a Hello Kitty travel mug on his work station; no doubt it was intended as a joke, but he took to carrying it around, casually sipping his Earl Grey from the garish pink vessel. There were a few muffed giggles, but no one said anything.

Not even Bond, who’s glacier-blue eyes went directly to it like a hyper-focused laser and then moved to Q’s face. His sensual lips quirked, and Q could tell he was pleased. 

Not that Q cared what Bond thought or didn't think. 

* * *

The minions soon became accustomed to the gifts Bond left for Q. It wasn't cause for gossip after the first few times; even when Bond had a hothouse orchid from the Amazon jungle delivered to Q branch because a sudden change of plans meant that instead of returning to London, he was sent on to Prague. Q felt his face heat up when he saw the thing, slender, pale and elegant, waiting for him. Really, Bond could cease feeding Moneypenny’s suspicion with his silly attempts to unsettle Q. Her frown upon seeing the orchid was ferocious.

Like most of MI-6, Eve had no doubt slept with Bond. It wasn’t jealousy that made her so touchy on the subject. In an appallingly embarrassing and frank luncheon, she outlined to him exactly why any sort of liaison between himself and .007 was a Very Bad Idea. Instead of warning him off, it piqued Q’s interest. Not that he was interested in Bond as a _person,_ he just wanted to know what all the fuss was. Also, he really hated to be told he shouldn’t do something.

* * *

So it was a little like flirting and courtship. Bond wooing Q with shiny things. Q accepting them and coyly avoiding Bond’s knowing gaze. It might have gone on forever.

Things came to a head on Christmas Eve, however. Q had been running point on Bond’s current mission, which was taking place at an opulent resort in Baden-Baden. As usual, Bond was flirting and seducing left and right. It wasn’t that Q  _ minded-- _ he had no room to, for one thing--on the contrary, it was what Bond did. But it did get boring after a while. He switched his comms to remote and wandered into the break room, seeking fresh tea. Leaning against the counter, he smothered a yawn; he really hoped Bond got what he was after soonish, so he could snatch some sleep.

“I thought I’d never get out of there,” Bond’s soft voice murmured low in Q’s ear. He stood up straight, shaking off fatigue.

“Bond? You’re leaving before you, er--”

“I didn’t need to  _ er,” _ Bond said, a chuckle threading through his words. “I slipped a few knock-out drops in her champagne. She’ll wake in the morning, hungover but perfectly fine. I’ve got the thumb drive secured and I’m heading for the airport.”

“Why the rush?” Q asked idly, dipping the infuser into the hot water. “Normally you like 'er'--love it, in fact.”

“It grows old,” Bond said, voice becoming slightly distorted. He’d probably entered a lift or stairwell. “Besides, I have to come back to London so I can give you your gift in time for Christmas morning.”

“Ha ha,” Q said.

  
  


* * *

  
  


He wasn’t laughing when Bond knocked on his door at dawn, startling the cats and Q in equal measure. “Bloody hell,” Q growled, jerking open the door, “I’ve only just gone to sleep!” He blinked, “Bond.”

“Hello darling,” Bond smiled cheekily, leaning one broad shoulder against the wall outside the door to Q’s flat. “Miss me?”

“What are you doing here?” despite his confusion--and his bedhead--Q stepped back, letting Bond enter.

“I told you, I have a present for you.” Bond held up both hands; in one he held a bottle of French champagne, no doubt wildly expensive and equally wildly delicious; from the other dangled a small gift bag.

“This couldn’t have waited?”   
  


Bond pretended to be wounded, “I was eager to see you...I thought you might be eager as well.”

“Stop saying  _ eager _ like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you want to, er--”

Bond set the bottle and the bag down, advancing on him, hips rolling, eyes going half-lidded, “Oh but I do, darling. I want to ‘er’ with you--and only you.” His teasing facade dropped, leaving behind sincerity--and a piercing vulnerability.

If he expected a refusal, he was bound to be disappointed. What he got was an armful of lusty and very enthusiastic Quartermaster.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Hours, possibly _days_ later, Q remembered the mysterious gift bag. He poked Bond in the thigh with his toe until the older man grunted and rolled out of bed to fetch it.

Q stared at the silky mass of fabric in his hand. Although perhaps ‘mass’ was misleading. It was a tiny, tiny thong. He lifted an appalled gaze to Bond, cheeks going fluorescent pink, “I hope you don’t think I’m going to parade around in this!” He gasped, sounding as outraged as a dowager duchess in a sex dungeon.

Bond plucked it out of his hand and raised a slow eyebrow, “Oh no,  _ I _ expect to be wearing it.” He leaned over, kissing Q with intent, “It’s me,” he whispered against his kiss-chapped lips, “I’m your gift, darling.”

  
  



End file.
